CHAPTER 9

After the night that they had had, Castiel would have preferred to return to the motel room and rest for the remainder of the evening. Dean, though, apparently felt otherwise.

"Geez, would you two stop worrying?" Dean demanded as Sam parked behind the Impala. Their car had been left in front of Malinda Honeywell's house when they'd been kidnaped, so Sam had grabbed the keys to Jackson's car before they left his house, so that they could drive it back to the Impala. Castiel had half been expecting for the street to be filled with police officers when they arrived, but everything was completely quiet. Apparently nobody had learned of Malinda's death yet.

"I mean, really," Dean continued as he climbed out of the passenger seat. "You get hit with one little curse, and all of a sudden people start treating you like you're made of glass."

"I wouldn't exactly call that a little curse," Sam said doubtfully as he and Castiel followed Dean over to the Impala.

"Whatever," Dean said dismissively. "We just killed a witch. That means we gotta go celebrate!"

"This hunt wasn't exactly a success, though," Castiel couldn't help but point out. "He managed to kill every one of his targets before we stopped him," he said, and very nearly added that the fact that Dean had been subjected to so much pain made celebrating the last thing that Castiel felt like doing, but remembered how upset Dean had been over that the last time, and restrained himself.

"So we go drink to the fact that at least he won't be killing anyone else," Dean snapped. "Come on! Like you two seem way too eager to point out, I was the one who just got cursed by that son of a bitch. If I say that I wanna go get drunk off my ass, then that's what we're going to do."

Sam and Castiel had exchanged glances after that, but neither of them had been able to argue after that. And so there they were almost an hour later, hanging around in a dark and somewhat-disgusting bar, because that was what Dean had wanted.

"I bet that I can beat anyone in this bar," Sam announced, taking another swig of his beer and casually using his pool stick to gesture toward Castiel. "Seriously, Jimmy, tell them how good I am!"

Castiel nodded absently, not looking over at Sam. He was too busy searching the crowd. But he did remember to say, "Yes, you are very good. I'm sure that you are going to win." His voice wasn't at all convincing, but then, that was the point. After his and Sam's first few failed attempts at hustling pool together, Sam had given up on trying to get Castiel to give a performance that was convincing enough to trick their fellow patrons into believing that Castiel actually thought Sam would lose his money. Now, Sam told Castiel to just agree with everything that he said. Apparently Castiel sounded awkward enough that it made everyone think that Castiel was just humoring Sam, and did more to convince the crowd than any lie that Castiel could have told.

Part of Castiel wondered if he should be at all worried that his acting skills were apparently so bad, especially considering the variety of secrets that he was endeavoring to keep, but he wasn't particularly concerned at the current moment.

"Hell yes I am," Sam announced, his voice slightly slurred in an impressive impersonation of a drunk man's voice, despite the fact that he had been drinking the same beer for the past half hour, and was still only halfway done. And sure enough, the combination of Sam's talented acting and Castiel's awkward confirmation of Sam's skills was enough to make a man step forward and challenge him. Sam grinned and bragged about his skills some more, and started betting higher and higher sums until the man had agreed to bet five hundred dollars on this one game, and several other patrons began crowding around, offering to make other bets with Sam regarding the outcome of the game.

Sam was very clearly in his element, gathering more and more bets with ease. It was clear that he wasn't enjoying the hustling in the same way that Dean obviously had, but that didn't stop him from being good at it, and within a few minutes, he had about half a dozen men putting money on the outcome of the game. Sam smiled, stumbled a bit as he approached the table, then immediately made the first shot that he took.

Clearly Sam didn't need Castiel's help any longer, if he had ever needed it in the first place. Which was fortunate, because Castiel was utterly preoccupied with staring around the bar.

When Dean had first said that he wanted to go to a bar tonight, Castiel had assumed that the three of them would be drinking together, as they had the last time. He'd been wrong, though. The moment that they'd arrived at the bar, Dean had gone off on his own, and Castiel hadn't seen him since.

Sam's reaction had made Castiel think that this was a typical occurrence, and Castiel knew that he shouldn't be worried. Dean would be fine by himself, and if he didn't want to have anyone around, then Castiel shouldn't try to force his presence on him. But despite the continued orders that he gave his mind, he couldn't make himself stop scanning the bar for any sign of Dean's presence. Just to be certain that Dean wasn't suffering any adverse effects from the curse, he told himself. He was fairly certain that that was a lie.

Finally, Castiel caught a glimpse of him. He was standing by the bar, standing incredibly close to a woman in a short dress. The woman was grinning and tilting her head closer to him, so that her hair draped over his shoulder. And for all that Dean seemed uncomfortable when Castiel was in close proximity with him, he didn't seem to mind this invasion of his personal space at all.

Castiel watched them speak with each other for another few minutes, until he got a sick feeling in his stomach that forced him to look away.

Sam won the game easily, much to the obvious outrage of the men who had bet against him. Castiel watched as Sam quickly collected the money that he was owed, a little concerned, as a few of the men were glaring as if they wanted to hurt Sam. Thankfully, no punches were actually thrown, and Sam stuffed the money into his pockets and walked away, with Castiel hurrying after him.

"Do you want to wait around for a bit, or should we head back to the motel?" Sam asked, glancing back at the corner of the room that held the pool table. "Sometimes if we lay low for a bit, we can wait for some new people to come in and then hustle a second game. I wouldn't count on it, though. And anyway, we've got plenty of cash right now. I say we just call it a night."

Castiel frowned. "It doesn't appear as though Dean is ready to leave yet," he said.

Sam paused for a moment before saying, very carefully, "I think that Dean's going to find someone else to leave with."

Castiel tilted his head, studying Sam's face as if it would hold some secret that would explain his words, but found nothing. "I don't understand," he finally said.

Sam shook his head. "Let's just get going," he said. "Dean will call a taxi if he doesn't… get a ride from somewhere else."

Castiel still wasn't sure what Sam meant. He also still didn't think that they should leave Dean alone at the bar, even if Dean had abandoned them the moment that they had walked through the door.

Castiel glanced toward where Dean had been a few minutes earlier. The girl was still sitting in the same seat, slowly sipping on a yellowish drink, but Dean was no longer with her. Castiel's frown deepened, and he glanced down the length of the bar, trying to figure out where Dean could have possibly gone.

This time, it didn't take more than a moment for Castiel to find him. Dean was about ten feet away from his previous location, leaning against the bar and talking to the man who stood behind it. At a glance, Castiel would have assumed that Dean was simply ordering a drink, if it wasn't for the way that the bartender kept his eyes locked a little too intensely on Dean's face. Dean had one arm leaning casually on the bar, and the bartender slowly lowered his hand until his fingers were touching Dean's wrist.

Castiel continued watching, waiting for Dean to pull away, the same way that Dean had pulled back when the two of them had shared a similar gesture earlier that evening.

Dean didn't.

"Let's go," Sam said again, grabbing Castiel by the shoulder and giving him a tug toward the bar's exit. This time, Castiel didn't argue. He simply nodded, forcing his eyes away from Dean and instead focusing on staring straight ahead of him as he and Sam walked away.

A taxi dropped Dean off at about ten o'clock the next morning. Dean had either lost or forgotten his room key, so he banged against the door until Castiel went and let him in, and then he stumbled inside, grabbing the wall for support until he could flop forward onto his bed. It was still unmade, since Sam had insisted that it would be alright for Castiel to sleep in it the previous night. Now, Castiel realized that it must have been because Sam had known that Dean would not return until after Castiel had already finished using it.

Castiel slowly closed the door, but kept his eyes locked on Dean, watching as Dean grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it.

Sam had been over by the small kitchen, attempting to make the toaster they had found in the room work long enough to toast the bread that he had bought earlier that morning. Now, though, he turned and frowned over at Dean. "Are you still drunk?"

"Hungover," Dean groaned.

Castiel thought back to the first night that they had gone to a bar together. Dean had drank the same amount as Castiel – if not more – and hadn't seemed bothered in the morning. In which case, how much alcohol would Dean have to consume in order for him to be this hungover now?

"Right," Sam said, turning back to the toaster, though he casually asked over his shoulder, "So, who did you end up going home with? That woman you were flirting with, or the bartender?"

Dean pushed himself up onto one elbow, glaring at Sam that it nearly made Castiel flinch, even though he wasn't the one that Dean was directing his anger towards. "Shut up," he snapped.

"I was just asking," Sam said defensively. "Normally you never shut up about these kinds of things."

Dean grumbled under his breath, then added, "And normally you don't care who I have sex with. Keep acting so curious and I might actually start sharing some of my stories, Sammy."

"Oh, god no," Sam said, making a disgusted face and turning away. "Keep those things to yourself, you kinky bitch."

"Jerk," Dean grumbled, but without any heat.

Castiel was still standing by the door, and now, he felt almost as if he were rooted in place.

So that was where Dean had been the previous night. Somehow, that had never even occurred to Castiel, though now he realized that it was the obvious explanation. And really, Castiel wasn't sure why he even cared, or why it should matter to him if Dean wanted to have sex with someone. But it did.

"Ugh, I'm never doing that again," Dean said, flopping back down onto the pillow.

Castiel cleared his throat, then asked, "So the sex wasn't... enjoyable, then?"

Dean shook his head slightly, then winced. "No, that part was awesome," he said. "I'm talking about getting completely smashed. I mean, that part was awesome, too, but the hangover sucks."

"Oh," Castiel said, then quickly hurried over toward the couch, sitting down and reaching for the TV remote so that he could begin flipping through random channels. He didn't know why it was so important that he suddenly appear busy, but it was.

"Can you turn that down?" Dean complained. Castiel lowered the volume slightly, but continued looking through the channels, even though there was nothing in particular that he wanted to watch. After a moment, he heard Dean groan again and get to his feet, then stagger off toward the bathroom. He didn't turn to look, though. He very determinedly kept his eyes locked on the screen as he reminded himself yet again about how this absolutely did not matter. He and Dean had only known each other for about a week, and this was apparently something that he did quite frequently. That should not bother Castiel.

"Sorry," Sam suddenly said, somewhat awkwardly.

Castiel frowned and looked over at him. "For what?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing," he said, which only confused Castiel further. "It's just, I'll go talk to him, okay?"

"Alright," Castiel said, because Sam was Dean's brother, so of course they should be able to talk to each other if they wished, and Castiel wasn't sure why Sam felt the need to inform Castiel of this.

Sam nodded, then turned and knocked on the bathroom door. There was a muffled, "What do you want?" from Dean, then Sam asked if he could come in. Dean didn't respond, so Sam opened the door and slipped inside.

Castiel kept staring at the screen. He had found a nature program that seemed interesting – or, at least, more interesting that the various poorly written shows that Dean insisted on watching.

Castiel couldn't hear what Dean and Sam were saying to each other, but he did hear it when Dean practically shouted something at Sam, and though the words were too muffled to fully make out, there was no way that Castiel could miss the anger in Dean's voice. A second later, Dean came storming out of the bathroom and practically threw himself back onto the bed.

Castiel glanced at Sam, hoping for an explanation. Sam just shrugged. "I tried," he mouthed, then turned back to finish preparing breakfast.

Dean slept for most of the morning and the very beginning of the afternoon. Even after he woke up, he kept lying in bed, not saying anything to anyone. Castiel couldn't tell if he was still hungover, or if there was something else bothering him. Either way, talking to him didn't seem like a good idea. Sam seemed to feel the same, because he sat down with his laptop the moment that they finished eating breakfast and didn't move for the next three hours, meaning that the day passed in almost complete silence.

Castiel didn't mind, though. In fact, he was grateful for it, because that afternoon, the angels came back.

They had never technically left, but Castiel had grown used to them existing in the back of his mind, where he was aware of their presence but couldn't actually hear the individual words. Around one o'clock, though, the voices began to swell, and Castiel very clearly heard the words "Dean Winchester".

Castiel frowned, then reached over and turned off the TV, eliminating the only noise that the room had seen in the past few hours. He then curled up in the corner of the couch and closed his eyes, allowing the voices to wash over him.

They still were not terribly clear, but Castiel could definitely catch words and phrases.

John Winchester was still looking, one said.

Not ready, another replied. Then came words that Castiel couldn't understand, but he made out the phrase Forty-one left now, can't allow him to...

Couldn't allow him to do what? Castiel didn't know, though he hoped that the angels would eventually repeat that part, hopefully a little clearer this time.

But no, they didn't. Time drifted away, and Castiel heard the words Dean Winchester and forty-one left reverberating through his mind more times than he could count, but beyond that, he learned nothing new.

Still, that was something, at least. Now, all that was left was to figure out what exactly was going to happen when forty-one had passed.

Then he heard it-

Forty-one days until Dean Winchester-

"Seriously, Ash, you're telling me that you still have nothing?"

Castiel's eyes flew open, and he spun around in his seat. Dean was on his cell phone, pacing back and forth behind the couch, practically growling with frustration. Castiel felt the same way. He had been so close to hearing what was going to happen to Dean in forty-one days. If Dean had just waited another moment before he spoke-

There was a second's pause, and then Dean snapped, "Yeah, but this is important. Really, really important. Isn't there a way to speed it up or something?"

Another pause, and then Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly with the heel of one hand. "Sorry, Dr. Badass," he said, saying the name with obvious embarrassment. "Just, let me know as soon as you have anything. And I mean anything, alright?"

Dean hung up his phone and tossed it onto his bed.

"You know, he's got to search the entire country for demonic omens," Sam said lightly. He wasn't at the table any longer. Instead, he was stretched out across his bed, though he still had his laptop on his lap. "It's not something he can do overnight."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said. "But it's been three weeks. You'd think that he'd have something by now."

Sam shrugged. "Give it time."

"We don't have time," Dean snapped.

Sam shook his head, and sat up straighter, his face suddenly going serious as he looked Dean in the eye. "We're going to get this thing, okay?" he said. "But there's no reason to rush into it. In fact, we'll do better if we don't rush. Let's just slow down, figure out what exactly we're up to it."

Dean snorted. "That wasn't what you saying last month," he snapped, anger showing in his voice for the first time. "You were all gung ho about making this into some suicide mission so that you could just kill the damn thing, and now you're saying we should slow down? What happened to wanting to avenge Mom and Jess?"

Castiel could practically feel the silence that followed. Sam was sitting completely still on the bed, but Castiel could see something in his eyes, and instantly knew that Dean had said the wrong thing.

"I do," Sam said, and his voice was much calmer than Castiel had expected, but he could still hear the heat hidden just under the surface. "But the last time we tried to rush into this, it led to the doctors saying that we should turn off the machines that were keeping you alive, because they weren't going to do any good. I don't think you get how bad it was, Dean. So excuse me if I'm not in a hurry to jump back into the same fight that nearly got my brother killed."

Dean was silent for a moment. Then, "Sorry," he said, turning away and walking back to flop onto his bed again.

"It's fine," Sam said shortly, in a voice that made it clear that it wasn't fine, but that they weren't going to say anything else about it. He glanced over, and seemed to notice Castiel staring at him for the first time. Instantly, he stiffened, and said in a falsely-happy voice, "Hey, Jimmy. Have a good nap?"

"Nap," Castiel repeated, blinking slowly. "I was not-"

That was when he noticed the time. It was nearly five o'clock, three hours since Castiel had first begun listening to the angels. And in all that time, he was fairly certain that he hadn't opened his eyes or even moved at all, which would explain why his legs were so stiff. No wonder Sam had thought that he was asleep.

Castiel began to explain that he had not been sleeping, then stopped.

Dean did not believe that the angels existed. Castiel had never told either of them that he heard voices. And even though he had been accepted as a member of the Winchester's team for the time being, his place here was still too tenacious for him to risk doing anything that would make them choose to send him away.

"I had not realized that I had fallen asleep," he said instead, slowly.

Sam just grinned, though it still looked forced. "Yeah, not surprised," he said. "We've kind of had a boring day."

Castiel nodded, then glanced over at Dean, who was currently dragging his duffel bag onto the bed and rooting through it. "Are you alright?" Castiel asked after a moment, not sure if he was directing the question at Dean or Sam.

Regardless of how the question had been intended, Sam was the one who answered. "Yeah, it's fine," he said. "Dean's just being an impatient little bitch today."

"Right," Castiel said with a nod, wondering if he should ask anything more, but not quite sure if his inquiries would be welcome or not. He finally settled on saying nothing at all, and instead returned to leaning back against the couch arm and once again closed his eyes, hoping that he would be able to hear what the angels had been about to say about Dean Winchester.

The voices were silent, though. Not just quiet, the way that they normally were, but utterly silent.

That was odd. Castiel couldn't remember a single time when they had been like this before. They were always at least murmuring in the back of his mind, no matter what he did, even when he tried to ignore them. To have a sudden silence fall, and for it to happen when he was actively trying to hear it... It was disconcerting.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, and Castiel opened his eyes again to see Sam watching him with concern.

"I- No," Castiel said quickly. "No, it's nothing."

Sam still looked at him like he didn't quite believe it, but after a moment, he nodded and returned to his laptop, leaving Castiel alone to ponder what the silence could mean.

"We have to do the friggin' laundry," Dean suddenly groused. During the past couple minutes, he had apparently managed to remove every single piece of clothing from his duffel, and was scowling down at it all in disgust.

"We just did it, like, a week ago," Sam said. "We stopped at that Laundromat right after we dealt with Gordon, didn't we? Right before we fought those Vetalas and met Jimmy?"

"Yeah, well, I need to go again," Dean said. "With Jimmy around, we're using up my clothes twice as fast."

Castiel shrank back slightly in his seat. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not mean to dirty your clothes so quickly."

Dean glanced over at him, and immediately shook his head. "No, it's cool," he said, and he no longer sounded nearly as angry as he had before. After a second, he added, slowly, "You know, we should probably think about getting you some clothes of your own, so that you don't have to keep using mine all the time."

Castiel instantly shook his head. "That's alright," he said. "I don't wish to impose, or force you to spend more money."

The corner of Dean's mouth turned up into a slight grin, and Castiel was instantly relieved to see it, taking it as a sign that the bad mood that had gripped Dean all day was beginning to disperse. "Nah, it's fine," he said. "We'll use the credit card, so it's not as though it's my money."

That... didn't make any sense at all, but slowly, Castiel nodded. "Alright, then. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Dean said. He grabbed a random pair of clothing – Castiel was fairly sure that it was the outfit that he had been wearing earlier this week – and sniffed them. Apparently they were up to par, because Dean nodded and headed toward the bathroom to change. He emerged a moment later, and threw his old clothes – the ones that he had worn at the bar the night before – onto the bed with the rest.

"You know, it's about dinner time," Sam said, making Castiel's stomach growl, as he suddenly realized that he had not eaten luck. Sam glanced over at Dean. "If we went out and found a restaurant, do you think you can make it through the whole dinner without killing one of us?"

"Oh, har dee har har," Dean muttered under his breath, then added, louder, "Don't worry, princess, I won't offend your precious sensibilities with my bad manners. Sorry for being such a bitch."

Dean spoke the apology almost as a complaint, as if he were upset by the very fact that he was even required to say it, but Sam grinned. "It's fine. You're always a bitch, I've gotten used to it."

Dean held up his middle finger, then shoved Sam in the arm, but both brothers were grinning now. Castiel joined in, more from relief than anything else. He preferred the happy Winchesters in front of him over the dark mood that had fallen over the motel all day.

Even so, there was one thing that prevented him from truly joining in with the happy mood. Even as they went out to climb into the car – Dean and Sam fighting in increasingly-loud voices over whether they should get burgers or sushi for dinner – Castiel's mind was on the angels, and where they possibly could have disappeared to.

Apparently Dean had been serious about buying Castiel his own clothes.

Sam refused to come with them. In fact, he had laughed when Castiel had suggested it the next morning. "You really think I want to spend my day off clothes shopping with you two?" he had asked, and snorted. "You, you guys go ahead. I figured I'd take advantage of having the motel room to myself while I've got the chance."

"Too much information, brother," Dean had said with a grin, and Sam had rolled his eyes and responded, "Of course that would be the first thing that you think of." And Castiel hadn't understood anything, as was normal. Then Sam had winked at the two of them and said, "Besides, I think that you two should have some time alone." That had caused Dean to cuss Sam out and storm off to the car, and Sam had laughed hard enough that Castiel had found himself joining in, even though he didn't know what exactly he was laughing at.

They ended up at a giant department store, because Dean announced that he "was never going to shop at one of those prissy malls, and nothing you say can change my mind." Castiel hadn't argued, of course. And anyway, he had to say that he liked the warehouse that they found themselves in, with its rows of clothing items and its almost-mazelike atmosphere. Not that Castiel had any other experiences to compare this to, as he had never gone clothes shopping before, but still, this store seemed to be conveniently arranged, and made it easy for him to find what he was looking for.

"What about this?" Dean asked, and tossed him a dark gray plaid shirt. "Check the label and tell me if that's your size?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel said. He looked at the label on the inside of the collar, just as Dean had instructed, but he didn't understand any of the words that he saw there. "What is my size?"

Dean gave him an odd look, but all he said was, "My clothes fit you, right? In that case, then that shirt's your size."

"Alright," Castiel said, and dropped it into the shopping cart that he and Dean were pushing around. "You are certain that the cost won't be too much?"

Dean grinned. "I told you, it's not my money, so if I were you, I'd go for the expensive stuff. Might as well, right? Just don't buy too much that you can't fit it all in a duffel bag, we like to try to travel light." He frowned suddenly. "Shit, we're gonna need to get you a duffel, too. And we probably want to stop somewhere fancier than this and get you a suit, if you're going to be walking around crime scenes pretending to be FBI. I'll take one of Sam's badges and stick your picture in it," Dean added, almost as an afterthought.

"Alright," Castiel said. Dean had been going a bit too fast for him, and he was a bit lost, but there was one thing that he caught from Dean's words. "Does this mean that I am going to be traveling with you for a while."

Dean looked at him sharply, then immediately turned away. He grabbed another plaid shirt off the rack in front of him and tossed it into the shopping cart before answering. "Who knows? But, I mean, you're going to need this stuff anyway if you're planning on sticking with hunting for long, and it doesn't hurt me at all to buy it for you."

"Right," Castiel agreed. It wasn't quite the answer that he had hoped for, but at least Dean hadn't outright stated that he planned on making Castiel leave soon, so he would take what he could get, at least.

For a minute or so, neither of them said anything, just flipped through the rows of clothes and produced anything that looked alright. Then Castiel thought back to the number that the angels had given him the day before, and asked, "Do you have any plans for where you'll be forty days from now?"

Dean had been reaching for another shirt, but now he stopped, and turned to look at Castiel, his eyes narrowing. "Why?"

Castiel frowned, unsure why Dean no longer looked happy, even though he had been a minute ago. "Should I not have asked that question?"

Dean shrugged. "Just oddly specific, is all," he said, though his voice was tight. "Forty days? Forty days exactly, instead of asking about what's going to happen next month or in two months or something like that? What makes you ask that, anyway?"

"Just a random question," Castiel said. "We had been speaking about the possibility of me staying with you for a while, and I had thought that I would ask about your future."

Dean relaxed, just slightly. "Do you have plans for forty days from now, or something? Is that why you're asking?"

"No," Castiel said truthfully. Then he lied and added, "It is just a random number."

Dean grinned, looking amused now. "Huh. Well, anyway, nope, I can't say that I've got anything in mind for that far in the future," he said lightly. "Hunters don't really get to plan things in advance much. Hell, I don't even know which state I'll be in tomorrow, let alone on the first of July."

"That makes sense," Castiel said. So Dean would not be able to help him with uncovering the angels' meaning. And Castiel couldn't think of any other way to discover it on his own, either. He supposed that he would just have to wait and hope that the angels mentioned it again.

Of course, for that to happen, first the angels' voices would have to return. They had briefly reappeared the day before, but Castiel had not heard from them since. More than just being disconcerting, he was seriously worried about what was causing them to come and go like this, and what their disappearances could mean.

It was at that moment that Castiel realized that Dean had known off the top of his head that the first of July was the date that came exactly forty days from now, without seeming to have to think of it. He frowned. He had checked Sam's calendar the night before, so he was sure that Dean was right. But it was strange that Dean knew.

"Now it's your turn to tell me something," Dean said, before Castiel was able to bring it up. "Who are Hester and Balthazar?"

Castiel frowned, feeling confused enough to forget what he had been thinking about a moment earlier. "Who?" he asked.

"The names that you gave that witch yesterday while you were stalling for time," Dean said, and yes, Castiel remembered that now. "They really your siblings?"

Yes.

That was the first answer that came to his mind, and his first instinct was to give Dean that answer. But then, as soon as Castiel began to wonder where the answer had come from, he found that he was no longer certain that it was the truth. If he were being honest, he would admit that he truly had no idea how his mind had produced those names.

He knew that he had siblings. Or, at least, he still had the strong sense that he had a family out there, somewhere, even if he didn't have a clue who or where they were. But then, if there was no proof, then how was he supposed to know that it was the truth? It could be wishful thinking, or his mind playing tricks. In fact, practically everything that he believed that he knew could actually have been made up in his head, and there would be no way for him to know for sure. The thought was terrifying, if he allowed himself to dwell on it.

"Jimmy?" Dean prompted.

"No," Castiel said. "I know nobody with those names."

Dean nodded, not even question that. It made Castiel frown, as he was momentarily struck with guilt over the lie. The guilt immediately turned to confusion, though, as he remembered that he wasn't sure if it was truly a lie, and so there may not actually be a reason for him to feel this guilt. All that did was confuse him further, and he resolved to not think of it any more. Not at the moment, at least.

"You okay?" Dean asked, taking a step toward him, concern written on his face.

"Yes," Castiel said quickly. Dean looked ready to say something more, but Castiel cut him off. "I think that I want to get button up shirts, such as the one I borrowed from you yesterday. I like them more than I like the plaid."

"Okay," Dean agreed, grabbing the cart and pushing it toward another part of the store, where shirts such as the ones that Castiel wanted were on display. "And it's okay, dude, I get the hint. You don't want to talk about your family."

"I would prefer not to," Castiel said. "It is a bit complicated, to be honest. I'm not sure what I should say."

"You can't be that close, if they left you to live on the street," Dean said, his voice casual, not even looking at Castiel as he spoke. Instead, he started looking through the shirts until he found one in Castiel's size, then held it up.

Castiel nodded his assent, and Dean dropped the shirt into the cart. And Castiel was fairly certain that if he didn't say anything more, then Dean would be content to let the subject drop. So there really was no explanation for why Castiel found himself saying, "And no, I don't think we are. Close, I mean."

"You don't think?" Dean asked. "I don't know, isn't that the kind of thing that you should know for sure?"

Castiel shrugged. "Complicated," he said.

Dean just nodded, and this time, Castiel said nothing more, allowing the two of them to drift into silence as they moved through the aisles.

It was a few minutes later when Dean announced that he was going to go to the bathroom quickly. He left Castiel with the cart, and told him to continue shopping without him. Castiel did so for a minute or two, until he looked over his shoulder and was certain that Dean was gone. Then he removed his wallet from his pocket and flipped it open.

He still carried the photo of the young girl in his wallet. There was no particular reason for him to have it, but also no real reason to throw it away, and so he never had. Still, though, it had been a long time since he had looked at it. He had barely even remembered that it existed after he'd left the men's shelter, and wouldn't have thought of it now if Dean hadn't brought up the idea of him having family.

Now, he stared down at her face, the blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and blue eyes staring straight at him, and tried to remember. She was too young to be one of the sisters that he was sure that he had, but then, he couldn't imagine any other way that she could be related to him. Maybe one of his siblings had had a daughter that he had been close to. Assuming that he was right about these supposed siblings even existing.

"Hester," he said aloud, quiet enough that none of the shoppers in the nearby aisles would be able to hear him. "Balthazar." They were the only two names that he could think of, and he tried his best to associate them with this girl's face, but he could tell at once that they didn't fit. It was clear that the mystery of this girl was not going to be solved any time soon, and he could think of no way to figure it out. He supposed that the best that he could do was to continue with his life, and hope that someday the memories would return.

Dean exited the bathroom then. Castiel saw him from across the store, already beginning to return to Castiel's side. Castiel quickly tucked the wallet back into his pocket – there was no way that he could explain the girl's photograph to Dean, not without revealing more things that he didn't plan to say.

It was still going to bother him somewhat, he knew. And he did hope that someday he would learn the truth. But until then, there were other things to worry about besides his missing memories, and other things that he preferred to focus his attention on. For now, he just turned his attention to choosing another shirt from the nearest rack, and did his best to push the matter from his mind completely.

"Dean!" Castiel said, his eyes widening. Dean did not seem to hear him, so Castiel repeated the name, this time with more urgency. "Dean!"

"What?" Dean asked, looking up from where he stood about two aisles over, flipping through the rack of raincoats. "What, you see something that you like?"

Castiel nodded enthusiastically. "Look at this coat," he said, lifting the trench coat off the rack and holding it up so that Dean would be able to see it. "It has several hidden pockets that can be used to conceal weapons, and it will be useful to have in colder climates. And it looks very nice." He considered that to be an understatement. It was by far the best-looking garment that he had seen since entering the store.

"Well, get it, then," Dean said, and Castiel was about to drop it into the cart, but Dean added, "You might want to try it on first, to make sure that it's the size that you want."

"Excellent idea," Castiel said, and pulled the jacket on immediately, then spun around to look for a mirror. There was one just a couple aisles over, and Castiel hurried toward it, eager to see what the coat looked like while he was wearing it.

The coat fit him better than expected. Castiel turned slowly, studying his reflection in the mirror, but he could see no flaws in the coat's design, nor any signs that he would be better off choosing a different size. In fact, it seemed almost as though the coat had been made for him.

Dean's reflection joined him in the mirror as Dean walked up behind him. "Seriously?" Dean asked, then snorted. "Should've figured that you would go for something as weird as this."

Castiel frowned. "What is wrong with it?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "Not something that you see people wearing every day," he said, then added, "but if you like it, hey, go for it."

Castiel studied his reflection for another minute more, just to be absolutely certain, then nodded. "I like it," he decided.

"Get it, then," Dean said, then turned and walked off. "Go see if there's anything else that you need. I'm gonna see if this place sells any bags that you can use."

"Sounds good," Castiel agreed, and Dean left. Even so, Castiel took another moment to stare at himself in the mirror before slowly removing the coat and turning away.

He had never particularly cared about his appearance before. In fact, there were times when he almost felt as though his body were somehow separate from him, and how it looked did not affect him in the slightest. Now, though, he realized that he enjoyed the way that he looked when he was wearing that coat.

It was a good feeling.

The bag that Dean picked out for him was a bright, fluorescent pink. Dean looked like he could barely contain his laughter as he held it out to Castiel while they were in the checkout line. Castiel wasn't sure why; it was a rather nice color, and a nice change of pace from the drab shades that the Winchesters preferred.

So Castiel just smiled and said, "Thank you," then passed it to the cashier to be scanned along with the rest of his items. Dean looked strangely disappointed.

There were several bags of items, but Dean assured him that they would all be able to fit in his duffle. "You just have to pack it right, dude," he promised as they loaded the bags into the backseat of the Impala. "I'll show you how to make it all fit."

Castiel believed him. Dean was the expert, after all.

It wasn't until they were on their way back to the motel room that Castiel dared to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind since the day before. "Dean," he said slowly, his voice breaking the silence that had fallen over the car. Dean made a noise to indicate that he had heard, and glanced over at Castiel, so he took that as a sign that he should continue.

"You nearly died," Castiel said softly.

Dean waved him off. "Oh, come on, the curse wasn't nearly that bad," he said. "And Sam got the bastard before he hurt me too badly."

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Castiel said, making Dean look back over to him. "Sam said that they were preparing to turn off the machines that kept you alive."

"Oh," Dean said. His hands tightened around the wheel. "You heard that?"

Castiel didn't think that that required an answer. Instead, he asked, "Was it truly that bad, or was Sam exaggerating?"

Dean shrugged, looking casual enough that for a moment, Castiel was certain that he was going to say that Sam really had been exaggerating. Then Dean spoke, and his voice was most definitely not casual, even if he was trying to make it come across that way. "It was that bad." He shrugged again, more of a nervous gesture than anything else. "Apparently my heart stopped once, and they said that I'd be brain dead, even if I did manage to wake up somehow. Plus, all the other injuries meant that I'd never hunt again, so that would've sucked."

Castiel stared at him. Dean was looking straight ahead, his eyes locked on the road – which, Castiel had already learned, was not his typical way of driving. Dean typically spent more time looking at the passengers than at the road in front of him, as if he were just asking to get into an accident. Now, though, Dean didn't seem inclined to even glance his way.

"How?" Castiel finally asked. "I had heard that you were in the hospital, but I assumed it was not so serious... How?"

"Don't know," Dean said. Another shrug. "Guess I've got an angel watching over me."

Castiel frowned, thinking of the angels. He had heard nothing that made him think that any of them had been the one to heal Dean. But then, they had never mentioned Dean's injuries before, so perhaps they just hadn't had a reason to bring it up. Still, though, Castiel didn't think that the angels were likely to interfere with the lives of any humans, not even those of Sam and Dean Winchester. At least, they had never seemed inclined to do so before. But more than that- "I thought that you didn't believe in angels?"

"I don't," Dean said. Finally, he glanced over at Castiel. "It's an expression. It means that I got lucky, or something."

"You think it was luck?" Castiel asked slowly. He didn't have a very well developed knowledge of the way that the human body responded to injuries, he would admit that, but he was fairly certain that luck wasn't enough to bring someone back from certain death.

Dean snorted. "That's as good an explanation as any," he said. "I don't know, Jimmy. Something happened to me, and I don't know what, and I don't know why. I mean, I'm grateful for it, obviously. But still, it's weird."

Castiel nodded in agreement. Dean's shoulders were hunched as if the conversation was making him uncomfortable, so Castiel decided not to say anything more.

Instead, he asked the other question that had been bothering him, admittedly with much less urgency than the first. "Where exactly did you go after we left you at the bar?"

Judging by the look that immediately crossed Dean's face, he was not any more comfortable with this line of conversation than he had been with the pervious one. "Don't think you want to know the details of that, buddy," he said.

Nevertheless, Castiel decided to persist. "When you had said that you wanted to celebrate killing the witch, I had assumed that we would be celebrating together."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, and didn't say anything for a moment, until he finally added, "Sometimes I wanna do my own thing, you know?"

"But you were with someone," Castiel pointed out. That did not make it seem as if Dean had been on his own.

Dean shrugged, acknowledging that. And when he spoke, it sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. "Fine. Then I was doing my own thing with people who aren't you or Sam. Just... changing it up a bit. You understand."

No. "Yes." He didn't actually understand at all, but he suddenly lacked the desire to keep pressing for further information.

"Awesome," Dean said, then reached forward and turned on the radio.